Superficial Cadavers Under the Sky
by tabzy18
Summary: Crossover with Dead Like Me.
1. Chapter 1

It was a strange sort of sensation. I mean, that's probably expected though right? Death doesn't exactly occur all too often; not often enough for you to get used to the sensation. It wasn't unpleasant…Sort of a tingling sensation through your entire nervous system starting with your toes for some reason… Okay, honestly, I'm lying. I'm not an expert on it or anything; I barely felt a thing. You want to know what happened to me? Do you _really_? Some idiotic simpleton who had only just started working at the theater that very moment was trying to move a piano from the back of the stage, where it had started out for some highly unknown reason, to the center isle where the crew would then be able to wheel it out of the theater. With a rope. As in through the _air_. Who thinks of that? And during a rehearsal. _Honestly?_

So that's what happened to me. A piano fell on me, and wipe that moronic grin off your face because it's really not that funny. But this is supposed to be a form of my retaining my sanity through this entire, psychotic process so I guess I should actually elaborate and start from the beginning… But I'm not going to start from the beginning. I'll start from that morning, possibly recap what happened through the years, and inform you what has led up to this very moment.

I woke up to a bright, shining new day. It was supposed to be _good_, but that's beside the point. I went through my morning routine of showering, getting dressed, and took the subway over to 42nd. I stopped at the bakery I always go to on the way to pick up my usual breakfast, and then walked the rest of the way to 51st.

I arrived at the Gershwin first, as per usual. I enjoy being punctual, and I enjoy having the time to myself inside of the theater. The older janitor there, Peter, always lets me in, and he's good company for a short while and we usually have light, cordial conversations, but he knows to leave me alone to prepare for the show after a short while.

I guess the first signal in my head should have been that Peter hadn't been there. It had been some new guy, a bit younger than Peter. The guy had said his name was Jack, but I wouldn't believe that was his real name for a second. Well, he followed me around, trying to strike up a conversation, for a good thirty minutes while I walked through the theater, actually attempting to get rid of him. Finally, I flat out told him I wanted to be alone so I could go get ready, and he looked at me with this strangely sober sort of look, and then he smiled sadly and patted me on the shoulder. But when he pulled his hand away he let his fingers trail along my skin where my jacket didn't quite meet the edge of my tank top strap. It still sends a shiver up my spine.

The rest of the day, up until the beginning of rehearsal, went regularly. I went to the changing rooms, but didn't do much else but brush my hair and hang up my jacket. By then a few other actors had arrived and together we began warming up.

Defying gravity was coming up and I stepped onto stage. I was just reaching my crescendo when I heard the snap… And then there was a second of blackness, and then I looked over and there was a totaled piano sitting all wrecked up next to me. With two feet and a hand sticking out of the rubble. My two feet and hand.

Everything was chaos from that moment on. Crew hands were running everywhere, actors were running everywhere, some of them screamed even, someone yelled for someone else to call an ambulance, and then that guy, Jack, was walking towards me, and it was weird because he was the only one that seemed to notice me standing there, everyone just ran past me as if I wasn't even there, even when I yelled that I was clearly perfectly fine.

Jack told me, very bluntly might I add, to shut up and that it was a futile effort. Looking in retrospect, he was quite a dick. I mean, I had just _died_. I should have been allowed to yell all I merry well pleased.

He told me we had to leave, and so we left, me somewhat in a daze, and him suggesting we head to this fabulous diner of 61st. I did, however, realize that as soon as we left the theater it was as if everyone could see me again. People stepped out of my way, however slightly people usually stepped out of the way in New York, and some of them even went as far as to say 'excuse me' when we bumped shoulders.

It was all really strange, to say the least. But when we got to that diner Jack explained simply that I was dead. Not exactly a shocker there. I mean sure, I didn't go to NYU, but I'm certainly not an idiot. He then explained that I wasn't _fully_ dead. I was skimming on the outskirts of dead and alive, where I would remain for a time that he didn't exactly specify.

"You're a grim reaper." That's literally all he said. There was no dramatic build up or anything. He didn't sell it at all, just came right out and said it. He was quite a dud conversationalist, to tell you the truth.

So, he explained the rules to me, which I took careful note of, but I didn't exactly take any of it to heart. When you die and then someone appears and tells you you're now a grim reaper would you believe them? Would _you_ take it at face value? I sure as hell didn't. I thought I was dreaming. So I remained in as high of a spirit as ever, and Jack and I quickly parted ways.

I've realized, a week later, that this is definitely no dream. Or, if it is, I must be in a coma or something.

But it's really not that bad. Honestly.

Not that I'm afraid of what I may come across in 'the afterlife', but it's kind of nice sticking around and helping _others_ move on to their after lives. I'm helping people, which I never really thought about doing before, not in such a direct way at least. Not only that, I'm helping people when the doctors, nurses, firefighters, and police force all fail.

How many people can say _that_, right?

But it's different. I'm different. I'm not the same person any more. I can't tell anyone I knew who I am, and I can't be who I was. I don't even look like myself any more. Reapers, we're incognito, _all the time_.

Usually I wouldn't care so much, it's really just another role I have to play, only this time I can't take the makeup off afterwards.

But what will happen to Her? I can't tell her, I can't be there for her and tell her everything's alright. I can only stand by and watch as the tears roll down her face while the casket is lowered into the ground…

But maybe I can?

Just maybe…


	2. Chapter 2

It sucked. It really, honest to god, did. I had just seen her the day before the accident, and we had only just gotten back in touch a few days before that. I had been transferred from the Ohio offices to the city a few months ago… After high school I went to college in Ohio and it wasn't really as bad as I thought it would be. I hated being stuck in Lima, but I didn't despise it, not like before. I knew I wasn't going to get out on a cheerleading scholarship, and I wasn't going to be able to use music to my advantage at all, not with singers like Mercedes, Rachel, and Santana standing next to me. So I worked hard. Puck got into some trouble after high school, and he headed south. I haven't heard from him since. My relationship with Shelby remained a bit touchy, but eventually she forgave me enough to see Beth on a regular basis. I didn't – I don't – exactly blame her for how she treated me once she found out what I was doing. I had been acting a bit ridiculous, but she eventually realized I just wanted the best for Beth. Once I calmed down a bit, we talked and we came to an understanding.

I majored in business management and minored in communications while attending college in Ohio, and I graduated in four years. I moved to Cincinnati and got a job working at Citigroup.

I continued working hard, and they transferred me to their headquarters in Manhattan.

I don't _love_ my job, but it pays enough that I can afford my own small apartment and not have to worry about what I'll be eating for dinner every other night. I also have pretty regular hours, so I can take undergraduate courses in film and video at night.

I'm busy, but I still have time to call or write to Beth at least every day, and I still have time for myself every once and a while.

Like the other night. I went to the Gershwin Theater with a friend I met in class to see Wicked. Guess whom I saw.

Rachel Berry.

Surprised? I'm not. Not really. If any of us could have made it out of Lima through sheer talent, it was her. As soon as I looked through the playbill to clarify what I thought was her, I couldn't help the smile that formed on my face. I was _proud_ of her. Here was the girl that was always saying how she could make it, the girl that was so good she didn't have to give any of us the time of day, the girl that had saved me more than once. She had _made_ it.

My friend had to head home right after the show, so I went around to the stage entrance to wait for the actors by myself. There were a few other people who had been in the audience who wanted to get autographs and praise the actors for their performance, but there wasn't a huge crowd. It was the end of November; anyone who wanted to see a show to remember in New York City was at Radio City.

I bundled myself tighter in my coat, a wave of anxiety rushing through me for a moment. What if she didn't remember me? What if she didn't want to have anything to do with me? We hadn't exactly been best friends in high school…

All of my anxiety was thrown away, however, when she stepped out behind the actress who had played Glinda. She signed someone's playbill upon request, turned, and our eyes met. It took a moment for it to register with her, but when it did, her face lit up with one of those signature smiles of hers.

She motioned for me to wait a moment and finished briefly chatting with, and signing playbills of, the few other people and then stood in front, and slightly to the left of, me on the other side of the rope barrier. Her fellow actors wished her a good night and made promises of seeing her tomorrow, and she waved and smiled in farewell in reply. Then she turned her full attention to me, and I looked at her with an expression of slight indifference, a smirk on my face, an eyebrow ever so slightly arched; an expression I had perfected over the years.

"I didn't know you were coming!" She had exclaimed finally, as if she had just realized we had been standing there by ourselves, staring at each other, for a few minutes at that point. I shrugged softly,

"I didn't know you were performing." I pointed out. "Congratulations," I added before she could respond, and my eyes scanned the black wall behind her, lightly lit up from a few wall-lamps, I motioned vaguely with my hand, "You really did it then?"

She followed the gesture of my hand and looked behind her at the side of the Gershwin Theater, sighing softly and nodding happily. "Yeah, it was hard but I finally did it."

We made plans to meet for coffee one of the following mornings after that, and we had coffee. She told me how she had ended up on stage in the City, and I told her how I had ended up… Not on stage in the City.

It was… nice. She was the first person I had really talked to in a very long time. She talked, we joked, and we laughed. I was _relaxed_. I wasn't worrying about everything for twenty minutes and it was _really_ nice.

And then I had to go to work, and she had to head over to the theater.

And I'll never see her again.

I'll never speak with her again.

That smile that could light up a room… I won't ever see it again. No one will ever see it again.

So I stand here now, watching as they lower the coffin into the ground. Her dads are here, too. One of them is crying, the other one, I can tell, is trying to be strong. I feel ashamed of myself as my own tears threaten to spill over the edge. What right do I have to cry? I wasn't that close to her, not as close as her fathers, and not as close as the many friends she has here…

I wasn't. But I damn well wish I had been. I just wish it hadn't taken me until now to realize it.


End file.
